


Justice

by prittyspeshul



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied Relationships, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:37:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prittyspeshul/pseuds/prittyspeshul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no justice in this world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justice

It was the soft feet, the little soft pads pushing into her thigh that brought her back to herself. The sky had settled, reality had calmed itself once more into a state of existence that didn’t threaten to make her vomit, but somehow her vision was still blurry around the edges, and her shoulders were shaking. The soft feet pushed into her again, insistently, and she lifted her gaze to find Kirara’s liquid eyes boring into hers, paws heavy against her, and she clutched the tiny demon, all she had left of her old life and family, to her chest. The kitten didn’t struggle, simply buried into her, shivering, trying to crawl into her skin, and too late she realized it was a weak attempt to comfort; the tiny mewling cries weren’t coming from her arms, but her own traitorous throat.

She pressed Kirara to herself and tiny whines joined hers, both overcome with so much; she still felt those horrible, choking sobs, half screams and half tears, bursting from the depths of her heart and she was reminded of the last time she cried this way, wanton in the lap of her self-loathing and loss, cradled by the strong, steady arms of her friend but this memory was unwanted, unwelcome now, in the face of such defeat. Warm arms, as soft and shaking as her own, enveloped her from behind but she was so absorbed she barely acknowledged them. Wetness dripped into her hair and she knew the monk, too, was mourning, in his own much calmer, much steadier way, and she hated him for it in that moment, hated that he could be so stoic even now, and yet she soaked it up, needing his steady tenderness and the grounding that he brought to her consuming, desperate misery.

 _It’s not fair_ , she shouted with every tear, _it’s not fair, it’s not fair that we had to lose her too_ , she shrieked in sobs, _we have all lost so much already, why would you take that final shred of hope and light away too_ , and she was really screaming now, lost, banging her bloody fists into the dirt, totally uncaring to the monk and her pet. This was grief, not for the sister she had lost—that was too fresh, too fresh, but it as a catalyst had released all the fitful rage and desperate, violent sadness that she had bottled until she could finally release it, the waves and waves of volcanic fury at all the ways she and her friends had been wronged so often and so completely by the world and by that one particular person, but to finally defeat him and have a breath of freedom and then suddenly, too suddenly, to have Kagome ripped from their grasp too—the cruelty was unspeakable.

Suddenly she was caught up, demon armor crushed in red-clad fists too strong for her to resist (monkish protests fell on ears deadened by blank space), and she was looking in golden eyes that were as deeply sad and angry and numb as she had felt for so long, and the screaming subsided, until once again tears fell, big, fat, childish tears of loss and loss and loss. Because she could see, in those eyes, all the loneliness and anger and bitterness that she had waded through for years, topped all off with a thick dollop of grief, and she knew the hanyou and she were much, much more alike than she had ever realized before. And she knew as though it had already passed that he would break, the walls of hatred and fear and sadness and guilt finally festering in an infection that he couldn’t contain, even his magnificent sword couldn’t contain, and he would fall inward from the force of his own void, and after all his work and all his sacrifice he still wouldn’t be saved, because how could he be, because the only person that had saved her, the same person that he loved so fiercely and brashly and jealously and totally, was gone, and it. Wasn’t. fair.

So she wept for he that couldn’t, wouldn’t, and he held her with no tenderness, staring into her face until the sobs finally subsided into hiccups and she collapsed from the weight of the sadness that still threatened to crush her. He dropped her, ungracefully, detached, into the arms of her waiting monk and walked away, but she could have sworn, in that moment, it was the gentlest way he could manage to say thank you. And even though her body ached and her soul was abused, even though the purifying light was gone, maybe, maybe, maybe the air was less stifling. Maybe there could be rest for the weary.

Watching the red blur grow smaller through salt-washed eyes, she prayed it was so.

**Author's Note:**

> Sango is an interesting character, in that she's arguably got the strongest mental barriers but is also the character that is shown breaking down most often (Kagome cries like every 3 panels so that doesn't count). 
> 
> I haven't actually finished the manga or anime yet, so I took some creative liberties with the results of the completion of the jewel because of wangst-related reasons.


End file.
